


grasshopper, sweetie pie, honeybee, buttercup

by Anonymous



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: 1950s, Alcohol, Betty Crocker Picture Cookbook, Cooking, Domestic Fluff, Gender Roles, Historical, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-09-23 04:49:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20334343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: there's no great reason for this to be published in installments butdamnit Jim we post unbetaed and in short bursts like the risk-taking men we are





	grasshopper, sweetie pie, honeybee, buttercup

There was no great problem leaving Erin with just one Benjamin Franklin Pierce for supervision. He was a grown man and a _surgeon_ and well, if some fine detail of parenting escaped him, there was the neighbor old Mrs. Sullivan, there was BJ just a phone call away, seeing as he hadn't scheduled any surgeries today, and if all else failed they had Mrs. O'Reilly's number on the fridge, long distance charges be damned. 

Even so, Peg got a little anxious at the increasing probability that _someone_ would be upset by the variance in routine when her homecoming from outside the city was delayed by some traffic accident. The only good thing about it was that it looked like no one was severely injured by the truck wreck, or the thousand cans of tomato products, fresh from the cannery, that were now rolling over the highway. But even without surgeries, BJ would be on-call tonight until 9, and Erin would get upset if no one fed her...

What she hadn't quite expected (hadn't she learned anything about expectations around Hawkeye?) was to find their ...roommate, they told the neighbors ("I thought the California sun would be good for him after the war," BJ said, without a hint of irony as the sun started to burn off the Bay fog), even if "lover" was the more accurate and very complicated answer... wearing her smocked gingham apron, the one her aunt in Indiana gave her the Christmas after she got married, and holding half an apple and a paring knife. 

"Do I make a good hostess, Peggy dearest?" he asked, in inimitable fashion. 

"Well," she began, the question entirely unexpected, "this _is_ our home..."

"You mean you won't lend me your kitchen and dining room to play hostess with?" Hawkeye teased, slicing the apple in half with those deft surgeon's hands.

"No--I only meant it feels a bit strange to be hosted in one's own kitchen. And I hadn't thought you would be that interested."

He shrugged one shoulder. "Figured Erin might like something that isn't my old bachelor specials, so we looked through your cookbook." He cut the core from one quarter, then added "Oh, and there's a cocktail for you. In the high cabinet, so little hands can't touch. I figure you'd have my neck if I let Erin get near it. Apples, yes. Creme de menthe, no."

**Author's Note:**

> there's no great reason for this to be published in installments but <strike>damnit Jim we post unbetaed and in short bursts like the risk-taking men we are</strike>


End file.
